


Nothing Good Ever Happens After 2 A.M.

by JoulesIsIronic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Babysitting, Body Swap, Character Death, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Multi, Puppies, Redemption, Severe Injury, horrible penis petnames, sick day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoulesIsIronic/pseuds/JoulesIsIronic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fanfiction Bingo occurred. Shots were taken. Drunken prompt responses ensued.</p>
<p>Posted in its unedited glory, from least intoxicated to most intoxicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Good Ever Happens After 2 A.M.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stormysaslytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormysaslytherin/gifts), [otatop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/otatop/gifts).



> Written in the company of Otatop and Stormysaslytherin. One shot before every prompt; prompts were chosen after being pulled at random from a hat. Intoxication ensued, with the promise of posting unedited to the public. 
> 
> I am so sorry.
> 
> (Note: in the final prompt, "Severe Injury," it is some-what implied character death, though you can read it in whichever way you'd like).

1\. Puppies

He laughs. He knows it’s mean, but he can’t help it. Because Scott’s just so _proud_ of his alpha form and Stiles? Well, Stiles doesn’t know how to break it to him.

So he doesn’t.

Scott wags his wittle tail and licks his hand, gazing up at him expectantly, as if to ask, _So? What do you think?_

“So cool,” Stiles decides to lie. Because it’ll be funnier later, he’s sure, when Scott goes off to Allison and Isaac to brag. The only reason Stiles is first to know is his coveted Best Friend Status. He knows this. It’s no big deal.

Scott wags his tail and Stiles has to stop himself from fucking _cooing_. He can’t quite resist the urge to put him, patting Scott’s fluffy head.

And then? Then Scott _rolls over_ and Stiles completely loses it.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re adorable,” Stiles wails, rubbing Scott’s belly. Well, until said belly is no longer furry, but a splash of hard, chiseled abs.

Stiles retracts his hand in a completely dignified way, because bros don’t accidently stroke other bro’s junk. It violates the bro code.

Scott is already on his feet, looking hurt and kicked… like a puppy. Which he is.

“What?” Scott asks, pouting. And still naked. That’s a thing.

“Uh,” Stiles says intelligently, because what’s he supposed to say.

“I’m not adorable. I’m fierce. Like a wolf. Right?” Scott asks.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees then relents. “Well, a puppy wolf. That’s okay, right?”

Scott frowns.

***

2.  Sick Day

Stiles moans in a completely manly way. The common cold. Seriously. Kanimas? No problem. Alpha packs? Whatever. Daracks? Psh, as if. But the fucking common cold? That’s going to be what incapacitates him? Really?

Well, there’s no way he’s letting _that_ get around.

He texts Scott and tells him he’s taking a personal day to browse online porn, because he thinks that’s probably less embarrassing than admitting that he’s stewing in a pile of germs and that it hurts to move. And it’s so unfair because Scott can’t even get sick anymore because of fucking werewolfitude. Rude.

His dad walks into the room, takes one look, and walks out, because there’s no way he’s dealing with that shit. From outside the door he mutters a, “Sorry kid, can’t afford to get sick,” and then he’s gone in a flurry of screeching tires. Also rude.

So Stiles just lays in bed, coughing and sneezing and being all manner of disgusting. He watches crappy soap operas and nods on and off.

Until he hears the sound of his window opening, that is.

He reaches for the bat he used to keep under his bed, only to find it completely missing. How inopportune.

Then he realizes it’s _Derek_.

“What the fuck, dude?” Stiles asks. It’s not particularly intimidating because he’s completely stuffed up.

“Isaac told me you weren’t at school,” Derek says by way of explanation. But his nose is all scrunched up so he definitely smells the b.o. Stiles is almost certainly putting off. Okay, so he didn’t shower today. Sue him.

“I told Scott I was watching porn all day!” Stiles says,, completely indignant.

“Yeah, well, for reasons I can’t _fathom_ , he didn’t pass _that_ message around,” Derek huffs. Then he pauses. “So, you’re sick? Why the hell did you feel the need to hide that?”

“Because,” Stiles sputters. “Because… because of reasons.”

It’s not like he’s going to admit his feelings of insecurity to Derek, that’s for sure.

Derek sighs, then rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he mutters. Then he walks through Stiles bedroom and out into the hallway. The hallway of his house. What the fuck?

“What are you doing?” Stiles yells.

“What do you think?” Derek shoots back from down the hall. “I’m making you some soup.”

And Stiles? Well he doesn’t have a response to that. Well, except a completely respectable, “Oh.”

Ten minutes later, Derek is back, steaming soup in hand. He thrusts it outward into Stiles’ expectant hands with a brisk, “here.”

“You are a godsend,” Stiles praises. And the soup is delicious.

When he’s better, he’ll have to thank Derek properly.

***

3\. Redemption

Jackson regrets it almost immediately. He hates children. They’re stupid and smelly; they’re sticky and loud, especially to his enhanced werewolf senses.

But when he closes his eyes, he can still see his fingers dripping with blood and hear the screaming and begging from the people he was forced to kill back in Beacon Hills, when he was that dork Matt’s little “Fury” and if sucking the pain out of some sick cancer kid helps to dull his memories – if it helps him sleep a little more soundly at night, less raked with nightmares – then so be it.

“Why are you so frowny, Mr. Jackson?” one of the little girls asks. She’s part of the group he’s been working with at the hospital. Mostly just reading stories, but sometimes he sits with them and colors or plays hide in seek in the small, sterile room.

“I’m not frowning,” Jackson denies, even though he was. “And it’s just Jackson.”

“Okay, Mr. Jackson,” the girl – what the hell was her name? Amy? Amanda? Something? – says. He sighs the sigh of the defeated.

Jackson turns to the rest of the group, who are staring at him expectantly. “ _The Lorax_?” He asks. “Want me to read _The Lorax_ now?”

The kids cheer, and Jackson completely denies the surge of warmth in his chest.

“At the far end of town,” Jackson starts. Then a little boy raises his hand.

The boy doesn’t wait for him to stop. “I have to pee,” he tells him. Jackson sighs.

“Then go pee,” he says impatiently.

“I don’t want to miss the story,” the boy whines, standing up and dancing from one foot to the other.

“Jesus,” Jackson accidently says out loud. “Look, I’ll wait for you to come back,” he relents.

The boy grins and scurries off. The other kids sigh impatiently, chattering amongst themselves. When the kid comes back, he looks positively relieved.

“You’re the best, Mr. Jackson,” the boy says.

And, yeah, okay, maybe this volunteer work isn’t so bad, Jackson thinks.

***

4\.  Meet the Parents

Well, considering that the first time Derek met his dad, he was arrested, Stiles figures their first meet-the-parents style dinner can’t really go too downhill from there.

And boy, was he wrong.

The sheriff just kind of _glares_ across the dinner table the entire time, stabbing at his dinner like he would stab at an assailant. Which might be what he considers Derek, all things considered.

And Derek? Well, first of all, he wears his very intimidating leather jacket to dinner. And then? He doesn’t even crack a smile the entire night! Granted, the fact that he’s being given the stink eye probably isn’t helping, but still! He could at least _try_.

By a half hour into dinner, Stiles is _done._ So he just _leaves_. He gets up unceremoniously, dumps his leftovers into a Tupperwear container, and heads for his room.

From behind, he hears his father say irately, “ _Now_ look what you’ve done.”

It takes another fifteen minutes before either of them have the balls to come up and talk to him. By then, Stiles has already filched out the hidden liquor from his closet and downed three shots in quick succession. So he’s a little more amenable when the two of them scuttle into his room, tail practically between their legs.

He can literally picture it on Derek, so he laughs. Because why the hell not?

Derek just scowls, and the Sheriff shoots him a dirtily look for it. “I came up here to _apologize_ ,” Derek mutters.

Stiles gestures for him to go on; then he shoots a significant look at his father, who reluctantly says, “Me too.”

“I’ll try to be more _behaved_ ,” Derek grumbles.

Stiles nods. “Damn straight.”

Then, in unison, both of their noses scrunch. It’s like some horrific version of _twins_.

“Are you drunk?” Derek asks, as his father demands, “Have you been _drinking_?”

And this is too fucking weird for even Stiles, so he kind of freezes and neither shakes his head or nods. He just stares. “Uh…”

“Jesus Stiles,” Derek says exasperatedly.

His father just gives him a disappointed head-shake and says his name warningly, “Stiles.”

“I plead the, uh, fifth,” Stiles says, and he thinks it sounds pretty smart, thank you very much.

Derek gives a why-the-hell-does-this-shit-happen-to-me look and his dad exchanges a glance with him.

Then they both laugh.

“Kids,” the sheriff says.

And Derek nods.

And they look like… _allies_ or something.

Stiles thinks he liked it better when they hated each other guts.

***

5\. Body Swap

Fucking witches, Scott thinks. _God bless them_.

He runs his hands down his body, cupping his new perky breasts, and trying not to giggle. From across the room, Isaac glares.

“Really, Scott?” Isaac demands. Though, it’s not really Isaac, since Allison is wearing his body. And it’s pretty freaking weird seeing his own body shrug at him from across the room, where Isaac is standing beside Allison in a position of solidarity.

“Sorry,” Scott says, and he probably shouldn’t be as attracted as he is to the sound of his own voice – of _Allison’s_  voice – singing from his mouth. It’s hardly his fault that everything about her is perfect. He feels a surge of guilt at the thought, because he knows Allison must be freaking out about this.

It’s only Isaac who seems weirdly at ease about the whole situation.

Isaac kind of splays himself on the bed, and Scott is again perturbed at watching his body move without his control. He’s a little more weirded out when he sees Isaac’s hand – his own hand – reach toward his crotch, hand stroking a little bit.

“Guys, you know how much of a perfect situation we’re missing out on, right?” Isaac asks. “I mean, it’s not like we’re not all together, anyway.”

Allison frowns with Isaac’s lips. “You don’t mean…?”

“I mean,” Isaac insists, lifting the shirt Scott had been wearing above his head and hurling onto Allison’s bedroom floor. “I mean, the spell will wear off in a few hours anyway. Might as well make the most of it.”

Scott isn’t sure if he agrees, but Allison kind of quirks Isaac’s head thoughtfully and nods. “Yeah, you’re right,” she says, and then Isaac’s shirt is off too.

And, well, Scott can hardly say he’s opposed to the idea. “This is going to be the most interesting, confusing sex ever,” Scott tells them, stripping down to Allison’s bra and climbing onto the bed after Allison.

The others agree, with a  unison, “Yeah.”

But, hell, it’s not like they haven’t been having threesomes for a while, anyway. And, Scott thinks, it will sure as hell make a neat story to tell later on.

Just not to any of their parents. Especially Mr. Argent. Or his mom.

He pushes the thoughts out of his head, because, hey, there’s two very attractive half-naked people waiting for his attention.

So they get to it.

And Scott is ultimately right. It is the most interesting, confusing sex he could have _ever_ imagined.

***

6\. Babysitting

Stiles huffs, because this is fucking ridiculous. He’s seventeen years old. He doesn’t need a _babysitter_.

But somehow both Scott _and_ Derek had agreed on this one. Because apparently being deaged by a witch made him incompetent. As if.

It is, he’ll agree, an inconvenience, though. With short, stubby arms, he attempts to climb onto the counter, hoping to reach the highest one to retrieve the Fruit Loops. But them some stupid, muscular arms scoop around him, and once again he’s on tiled floor.

“No,” Derek scolds. Stiles wishes he could say “Fuck you,” but he’s having trouble with pronunciation.

It comes out more as a “’Uff you.” And his voice is _far_ too high for even _him_ to take seriously.

And Derek just _rolls his eyes_. Bastard.

Stiles huffs, ‘cause it’s not like it’s _his_ fault he was turned into a small child. And besides, it’ll wear off in a few hours.

Though he supposes he should just be grateful that no one told his father, because he doesn’t think he can take hearing _that_ mocking.

And, Jesus, Derek seems to think he’s some adorable little _thing_ because he scoops him up against his will and carries him into the living room.

“Cartoons?” Derek asks gruffly, turning the TV onto Nickelodeon. And, well, okay, _Avatar_ is on, so Stiles just shrugs and chills in Derek’s arms, which are actually surprisingly comfortable.

They kind of fall asleep like that, which is pretty embarrassing, because who falls asleep during _Avatar_? And when they wake up, Stiles is seventeen again, and all flailing arms and gangly limbs, and he probably shouldn’t fit so comfortably into Derek’s arms, but he does.

They shoot apart like opposite polars of a magnet and Derek stares at him wide eyed and horrified. But Stiles just kind of _shrugs,_ and Derek relaxes, and things are, like, _normal_ , he guesses.

And if Stiles has dreams later that night about waking up in those arms due to different circumstances, then so be it.

***

7\. Horrible Penis Petnames

Derek wishes he could think Stiles was too drunk to know what he’s saying, but he isn’t. He knows Stiles has only had about half a beer – he can smell it on the teenager’s breathe – but Stiles is grinding up against him anyway, and he’s singing some ridiculous song.

“Let’s have some fun this beat is sick,” Stiles sings, thrusting against him.

Derek grimaces, because, well, he’s the one who agreed to _date_ Stiles. And he should have already know Stiles has no filter in public.

“I wanna take a ride on your disco stick,” Stiles continues, hoisting himself into Derek’s arms.

Derek can only catch him, sighing in disbelief. “How are you drunk already? You can’t be drunk. You’ve only had half a beer!”

“I want your lightsaber, Derek,” Stiles whispers in his ear seriously.

“Stop,” Derek begs.

“We’re going to have a Jedi duel, Derek,” Stiles insists.

“Stiles,” Derek warns.

“It’s going to be glorious. And your Washington Monument is going to be beautiful.”

And then it kind of clicks. “Are you fucking with me?” Derek demands.

“No!” Stiles says too quickly. “I just really want your glorious pixie stick right now, okay?”

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Derek asks angrily. “Pixie stick? Seriously?”

“Look,” Stiles whispers, warningly. “Just… just play along, okay? Because I am not losing to Erica, okay?” Then, more loudly, he says, “C’mon, Derek, ram me hard with your mighty sword!”

Derek pauses, letting Stiles lunge against him. “Bet with Erica?” he whispers.

“Oh yeah!” Stiles yells out. Then he says quietly, so Derek has to strain to hear him, “If I win this, she’ll stop harassing us for a _year_. And she and Boyd have to forfeit all rights to comment on our relationship.” Louder, he says, “I want your Eiffle Tower of wonder!”

And… Derek _gets_ it. So he decides to play along. “Give me your phallus of wonder, Stiles!”

They win the bet.

***

8\. Severe Injury

It’s not so bad, Stiles thinks. It’s denial, one of the five stages of grief, and he knows it. But hell, what else is he supposed to do. He’s on his side and he can’t feel his legs or see anything in front of him, but at least he’s alive, so there’s that.

Something warm is pressing against him, pushing at his shoulder, shouting his name. It’s disconcerting, ‘cause he’s _fine_. He’s only bleeding out a _little_. Nothing serious.

Except that he’s in an ambulance now and they seem to be panicking about something like his heartbeat and his bloodloss, but they’re really just overreacting. No big deal.

He doesn’t think anyone will mind if he blacks out, so he does, and it’s actually quite blissful.

He’s not sure how much time passes before he wakes up; in fact, he’s not even sure he’s awake at first, because his eyes won’t open. But he can hear someone talking to him – his father, he thinks – and he can feel a hand wrapped around his, so he thinks he must be awake or something similar.

Stiles wants to tell his dad he’s okay, that he doesn’t need to worry, but he can’t. There’s something in his throat – a tube or something – and he can’t get the words out. He squeezes back on the hand gripping his and hopes that whoever it is gets the message.

It’s a while later, he thinks, before he wakes up again. He still can’t manage to open his eyes, but the voices are a bit clearer. He knows one of them is his dad for sure; can hear the man pleading for him to wake up. He wants to tell him that he is awake, that he can hear him, but he can’t.

There’s a voice calling to him, and this time it sounds like Scott, and it’s saying the same thing as his dad, begging him to open his eyes, to say something. He wants to, but he can’t.

Derek’s there too, at some point. He can just feel the added broodiness in the room, can tell when its his hand gripping Stiles’. Derek doesn’t say much, though, and besides the _feeling_ Stiles has no proof that its him.

It isn’t until a few more attempts to wake up that Stiles realizes that maybe his injury is a little more severe than he thought.

He doesn’t have much time to think on this, though, before he fades to black.

 


End file.
